Work Text:
Waking up was, arguably, the hardest part. It was quieter than usual, and while he wanted to pretend that the absence of blaring classic rock music to wake up to was because Carlos had gone in to work early or just didn’t want to wake Cecil, the voice mail was still saved on his phone, taunting him with the crippling weight of the truth.
He knew that he should take care of himself, make breakfast or maybe do a few yoga poses. Strive for some kind of normalcy in what felt like the unraveling of time and space and everything he held dear, but Carlos had always made breakfast and Cecil barely had the energy to get out of bed let alone do some kind of contortionist tricks.
That cute, flustered little speech that Carlos had given him when he asked about buying a condo was a twisted, heartbreaking joke now. The four walls surrounding him weren’t home anymore, not really. They were just plaster and wood and nothingness all rolled into one to protect him from the outdoors, but they couldn’t protect him from reality.
The apartment felt sterile without Carlos to wake up to.